Hank & Gavin Aren't Paid Enough to Deal with Their Partners' Emotions
by ElReyCiervo
Summary: Long title: Hank and Gavin Aren't Paid Enough to Deal With Their Partners' Weird Emotions, but Do So Anyway. Deviancy isn't easy, Hank and Gavin know this. Now, combine that with the fact that Connor and Nines have living shadows emoting everywhere...it's a bit of a mess. They help their friends, but for the love of God, Fowler, give them a raise. [Part 2/? of Otherworldly AU]
1. Frustration, Worry

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Words: 2772

Warnings: language; mention of violent android murder cases

-Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy this next installment of my Otherworldly AU! This chapter is gonna be a little more lighthearted compared to next chapter, which will be a little darker. Appropriate warnings will be added for next chapter.

-Also, I did want to mention that I was able to get Nines added as a character to the FF character list! I contacted the staff a bit ago and they finally added it. He is listed as RK900.

-Still at the pre-rk1700 relationship status with Nines and Connor, just to note.

* * *

Part I: Frustration/Worry 

At age 53, Hank Anderson felt like he was still a damn good lieutenant, even after years of drowning himself in alcohol.

Yeah, his disciplinary record could be another best-selling novel, and yeah, he could stand to come to work at the actual time he was supposed to be there—it was one of Connor's ongoing objectives (and yes, Connor had specifically told him it was an important objective of his), but he knew for a fact that his skills weren't as washed up as Reed made them out to be. He was observant and analytical in his own way—_Yeah, no supercomputer brain needed here, Connor_—and there were times where that sleuthing part of his brain could help _but_ notice some things.

Like now, for instance.

It was 9:45 in the morning, too damn early to be here yet not early enough according to his partner, and he was sitting at his desk clutching his mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him sane. One sip from his _Don't Talk to Me __Until I've Finished This Coffee_ mug and the following euphoria that came from it kinda confirmed that, yeah, it was his only lifeline right now. He was only human, sue him. To his luck, or maybe misfortune, the coffee stimulated his brain just enough to home in on Thing 1 and Thing 2.

Connor and Nines were hunched over the latter's desk, pouring over a current case. Their LEDs were matching rings of rapidly spinning yellow. The two androids, including Reed and himself, had been following the trail of a human serial killer who seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in crucifying androids. Like actually, honest-to-God Bible-style crucifixion. (For fuck's sake, what was _wrong_ with people?) The case had opened about three weeks ago and they were coming to be pretty close to solving it.

The evidence had been some nasty work, and Hank knew that despite how much Nines and Connor wanted to keep it to themselves, the grisly nature of the murders had been getting to them more and more lately.

Hank didn't blame them. He'd seen the lowest of the low of humanity, but seeing your own people being executed for just being alive took a whole new turn on disturbing.

A drop in the room's temperature sent a minor shiver through his body, prompting him to clutch the warm coffee in his hands tighter on reflex.

_Ah shit_.

His immediate focus snapped to Connor first. Deviancy, from Hank's learned experience, had gifted the android with a violent slam-dunk of both good and bad emotions. The bad emotions were ones Hank hated to see in his friend. He watched as Connor leaned in a little deeper from his perch on his desk—deviancy also made him allergic to sitting like a normal person, it seemed—in order to look more closely at a stack of evidence photos. There was a deep furrow in his brow and a flat pinch to his lips that looked like he was trying to will away a bothered frown.

The temperature dropped another few degrees. A flicker of movement on his right brought Hank's attention to one of the walls. None of the lights in the bullpen had changed, but the shadows on the walls began to shift and yawn, stretching in length as if a passing car was reflecting lights back into the precinct.

A glare formed in Connor's eyes.

The Lieutenant knew that Connor wasn't always Positivity and Good Dog Vibes. Knew that he could be ruthless if the situation called for it, even though he despised when aspects of his previous Hunter coding trickled into his behaviors (and yes, it had taken a while for Hank to pry _that_ little nugget of information from him), but even then, that narrowed glare would have been much more at home on Nines's face.

And speaking of Nines…

The intensity that the man was using to speed-read the reports on the monitor of his terminal could have melted the thing. To anyone who didn't know the RK900 well, they would have called the look on his face the one of a _mean_ son of a bitch. The icy blues that were narrowed—and flicking around reading at an inhuman speed—in what might have been read as hateful, that clenched that jaw that was working itself to death, and that nasty pull of his mouth. Christ, that was the picture of someone not to fuck with.

To Hank, however, he knew better. One couldn't spend a lot of time with Connor without also spending a lot of time with Nines. In layman's terms, that meant he knew the deeper meaning behind those features. That narrowing of his eyes wasn't hateful, but more concerned and frustrated that he didn't have the answer right then and there. That frown on his face wasn't angry, but rather displeased with his own performance. Nines was even more of a perfectionist than Connor was, which was saying something. Nines was supposed to be Connor's upgraded (almost) everything—although he stated this when he was first activated, he had assured them all later that it did not mean that he thought he was superior to Connor—so it was bothering him he wasn't getting the answer he wanted and needed.

To make matters worse, the poor guy had somehow and somewhere picked up the bad habit of stress eating.

Hank could relate, although his stress eating was more like depression eating and beer guzzling. He was, like, ninety percent sure that androids didn't gain weight like humans did, but surely constant snacking wasn't good for them either, right?

With his eyes, he followed the long shadow that stretched from Nines's feet all the way into the breakroom. He had to tilt a bit in his wheely chair, but he could see that his shadow had morphed into a toothy creature and was making its way through an entire box of pastel blue thirium mini cookies. And it wasn't in a normal pace either. Even though a spped of twenty mini cookies per minute, the horror that should have been immediate was taking a backseat to impressed. As he watched the shadow practically mow through another five in the blink of an eye, Horror came back, but this time it had its buddy Concerned with it.

_Can androids get indigestion?_ Hank thought with a note of worry. Nines didn't deserve indigestion.

"Anderson! Reed!" Fowler waved them over to come to his office.

Hank shared a wary look with Reed, who appeared equally confused. Fowler usually yelled out them to chew them out or quickly get their asses in gear. Now, however, he just looked like America's Next Top Exhausted Captain. Those eyebags were vintage fashion, so beat that Tyra Banks.

They didn't even get through the door before the Captain pinned them with a desperate look. Hank decided it didn't look good on him. "Look, Hank, Gavin," he crowded into their space, which made both detectives take a reflexive step back. Another look was shared because why the heck was Fowler acting like this? "I know how difficult your current case is and how much it's been dwelling on you guys. Hell, I'm not even on the case and _I've_ been constantly thinking about it. Who couldn't—the nature of the whole thing is disgustingly terrible."

"If that ain't the understatement of the century," Gavin muttered under his breath.

Fowler glared at the younger man who gave a helpless, well-what-could-you-do shrug.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, continuing, "_But_," he stressed, "you have to do something about your partners before they end up doing something crazy."

"Crazy? Those two?" Hank snorted. "I think you got the wrong androids, Fowler. Those two are the most tight-laced guys on the force right now."

The incredulous eyebrow that was aimed at Hank could have won the next Academy Award for Driest Presentation of the year. Pointedly, Fowler turned his head to look at Connor and Nines through one of the glass walls which prompted Hank and Reed to follow his gaze.

Connor had a pool of black growing from his feet like a leaking, spilled inkwell. Even from here, they could see the flicker of red-yellow-yellow-red of his LED.

Although Nines had not moved from his spot, they watched his shadow move from the now empty box of mini thirium cookies to the communal breakroom fridge. It started to pull out someone's tater tots and remove the plastic covering of the container. A quick rotation of red in his LED matched the shadow opening its fanged mouth to eat. Androids, sans the little YK500s, _couldn't eat human food_.

"Y'know what," Reed winced, "that's fair. I got him."

"Okay, shit, I see your point. I'll handle Connor."

They heard Fowler's low '_Thank fuck'_ as they made their way from his office. When he got to Connor, he sighed and rolled his eyes as he took in the mess that his friend was in. Still hunched over his desk and preoccupied, he took absolutely zero notice of Hank behind him. It wasn't often that Connor got so absorbed by something (other than Sumo) that he ignored the world around him—especially at work—so it was apparent that he was bothered.

With a little shake of his head, he swiped a report from his own desk and rolled it up, and then proceeded to bop the preoccupied man with it on the back of the head. He watched as Connor blinked and startled a bit, LED jolting red then back to yellow. The inky pool of black shadows that had been leaking from Connor got sucked back into his normal little shadow, the yawning and shifting shadows on the wall ceased their movements, and the room turned back to its normal temperature. "Calm down some, kid," Hank patted him on the shoulder and got him to look at him. "You're getting pretty worked up over the case and it's making the room look like a shadow puppet show."

Connor looked away with an embarrassed frown on his face. Well, at least it wasn't as severe as the upset one he was sporting before. "I am sorry, Lieutenant," only this one time Hank didn't bother correcting him about being so formal since he seemed bothered, "but the fact that we still have yet to catch this killer is…" For an android who was meant to be articulate and know what to say—he wasn't a negotiator for nothing—seeing him at such a loss for words made something squeeze in Hank's chest.

"It's driving you up the wall 'cuz you feel like you should have solved this already, right?"

Genuine surprise was a freaking funny look on Connor's face, but Hank was a good partner and friend, so of course he was able to keep in mirth in.

Mostly.

Okay, maybe a chuckle came through, but only a small one.

He watched as Connor's laser light show of a ring swirled yellow-red-yellow-yellow-yellow until it finally slowed to a calmer blue. "For a man who frequently informs me that he does not understand people, there are times where you seem to know just how I feel better than I, myself, do." His mouth eased into something that was no longer a frown but wasn't just quite right enough for a smile. It would do, though. "To give you an answer, yes, that is exactly how I feel, though not in the words I would have chosen."

Hank huffed a laugh, watching as Reed was about to pop Nines out of his own stress bubble. "Yeah, well, not everyone can be a walking dictionary like you."

Reed, still grumbling under his breath, had done a weird cross between a saunter and a powerwalk to get to Nines. He bumped his hip against the taller man's, which caused the creature in the breakroom to freeze and stop its food-scouring campaign. "Yo, Nines, take a break." He pointed to the shadow, "You getting all worked up over this is gonna make your shadow—or would it be you?—all fat."

Nines glanced over to the breakroom, a pale blue starting to creep up his cheeks. With a touch of embarrassment (it was a rare thing that their resident Terminator got embarrassed, so Hank and the rest of the bullpen took it in while they could), the shadow gets sucked back into its rightful place. "Apologies, Detective."

"Dude, it's just Gavin," came the reflexive answer. Then, a scoff, "Don't worry about it. I just don't wanna be the one to have to take you to a hospital and tell them that your dumb ass started malfunctioning because you decided to stress-eat _tater tots_."

There was a quiet moment before Nines pursed his lips. "I was not stress eating," his voice was low and unamused.

Hank had to just inject his input, "Uhhh, except you kinda were." He clapped a hand on Nines's shoulder in order to steer him away from his desk. The guy looked so confused to where and why Hank was pulling him away from the case material. He was a workaholic, like Connor—didn't help that neither of them had to sleep a human's necessary 6-8 hour schedule, but Hank knew they could get overloaded just like any regular ol' person. But hey, birds of a feather and all that.

"Lieutenant?" Though confused, Nines was allowing the older man to steer him towards the exit of the bullpen. "Where are we going? We still have yet to make any progress with the case and there is much work to still be done."

Reed, as much as he hated to admit he gave a damn about Connor and Nines, poked Connor in the back until he started to trail behind Hanks and Nines.

"Detective Reed, I insist you keep your fingers to yourself."

Another poke. "Insist all you want, but you aren't gonna continue to stress me out by you looking stressed out."

"I am not stressed ou—Detective, will _you cease your_ _poking?_"

With a look over his shoulder to Fowler, he pointed to the two RKs and Reed and then to the exit. His captain looked all too happy for them to get the hell out of there and seemed to get what Hank was getting at.

"Early lunchbreak. We need it."

A few swats later, like clockwork came Connor's expected, "But, Lieutenant, you seem to forget that androids do not need to eat. Nines's and I's thirium levels are at 98%."

Reed rolled his eyes and scoffed, still poking a finger—and dodging batting hands—between Connor's shoulder blades. "Look, if I have to keep smelling burnt plastic from your brains frying themselves out, I'm gonna tank my bike into the next ditch."

There was a short pause before, "Detective, I do not think you understand—"

"_We're gonna eat! Let's go!"_

* * *

As Hank and Reed were in line to grab something quick from the café around the corner, Reed couldn't help himself. Not taking his eyes off the menu, he tipped his head towards Hank. "Hey, uhh, lemme ask you something." His mouth was screwed something funny.

Hank looked at the younger detective. Arms crossed, foot tapping the floor, Gavin appeared to be the exact opposite of someone who wanted a conversation. "Yeaaah?"

What came out of his mouth was not something that Hank expected to hear, to say the least. "…How can his breath be sweet if he never physically ate the cookies himself?"

"Reed, if you never listen to anything else that I ever tell you 'cept this, it's gonna be that it's best not to think about it too hard."

He seemed to take that in stride, surprisingly well.

At least they didn't have to take Nines to the hospital over eating human food.

* * *

They had to take Nines to the hospital because he ate human food.

Specifically, because he had managed to eat five tater tots. _When_ that had happened, no one knew, 'cuz Hank had been keeping a damn sharp eye on him after Fowler had pulled them into his office.

Connor nearly had a fit when Nines had collapsed from pain in his stomach biocomponent and a heating problem. Well, after he had gotten repaired. His predecessor was kind enough to lay off the chiding tirade until he was functional again.

But damn, Connor had that worried hen tirade _down pact_.

God, Hank wasn't paid enough for this.

* * *

Published: 4/14/19

Posted early cuz I have a paper to work on and exams, and tomorrow is my mom's birthday! This was originally gonna be one whole chapter, but I split it into two because it flowed better. Next update will be ~4/28/19. (Otherworldly AU stuff will post about every 2-3 weeks-I don't remember if I've mentioned that or not.)


	2. Frustration, Anger, Sadness

Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Words: 2811

Warnings: language, violence, hospitalization, (near) breakdowns.

Get ready for lots of feels, guys. In term of emotional importance, this one is a pretty important for Nines and Connor's relationship, as well as Nines and Gavin's as friends and working partners.

* * *

Part II: Frustration/Anger/Sadness

Tonight had been the shittiest night a guy could ask for.

As he sat on the couch with a beer in hand, careful of his bound ribs, Gavin watched Nines pace their apartment with an agitated gait. Long strides, almost silent footsteps despite his weight—it was like watching a restless predator doing laps in their cage. Arms gripping themselves in a vice behind his back, eyes blazing forward with an intent burn, and hunched over like he was going to pounce on someone and something—a dangerous man.

Gavin took a long sip of his beer.

As much as the urge to make a wisecrack to break the tension burned in him, for once, he didn't let his mouth run. He remained silent, at least for now.

His cats had run off deeper into the apartment—into the bathroom, probably—as soon as Nines and Gavin had come home as opposed to twining between Nines's long ass legs. Count Chocula in particular had hissed at the two stretches of clawed haze that had pushed the door open and turned on the light. Captain Fluff had just hid herself away, asap. Animals were pretty keen in sensing all the shit people couldn't. As he watched the shadow that mirrored Nines's head—its action of throwing its head around with a snarl mirroring Nines shaking his head with gritted teeth—he could see how. This was a polar opposite of how Nine's shadow normally was, the puppy-like glutton that always wanted to snack. Oh no, these fangs looked ready to rend and shred someone apart.

(His partner had bitten off a thug's pinky when the asshole had tried to tie down the android earlier, so Gavin guessed it was a little late for that.)

It felt like a long time before he heard Nines finally say something, and when he did, he winced at the choppy static. "I wanted to kill them, Gavin," the whisper didn't even attempt to sound human. Formality was also thrown out the window.

"I know," he let himself say.

"I did not even care if it would have landed me with repercussions," he raised his hands towards his face, clenching the fingers like claws, and Gavin watched as his two shadow arms swelled and expanded against the kitchen wall and the wall behind the T.V. They also clenched their hazy claws to match him. His LED was a bright, swirling crimson. "I did not care if I was arrested. I wanted them dead at my feet."

Gavin next sip of beer was particularly bitter. "I know."

_Not gonna lie, I wouldn't even have stopped you._

What had turned Nines into this angry, vindictive mess was a riot that had broken out earlier that night in the park. There had been a group of peaceful 'droids doing some kind of night-time hippie art thing in order to raise awareness of their rights and that stuff. A couple of drunks had gotten aggressive, and one thing led to another, and before anyone knew it, a group of a few drunk bastards had turned into a mob of like fifty or so belligerent protestors.

How it exactly had happened, no one was sure, but when they got the call, Gavin had known it was going to be _ugly_.

And fuck, it was.

Three humans injured, four beaten-up androids, and two androids dead on arrival—a mess, indeed. Gavin and Nines along with Anderson and Connor had been just two groups of the many that had rushed to the scene. Much of the violent mob had scattered as soon as they heard the sirens and saw the flashing red and blue lights, but of course, a couple of assholes just decided to try their luck.

Even the best riot gear and training couldn't defend against bad luck.

Gavin hadn't known how, hadn't known when, but somehow all of them had gotten split up in the screaming, loud, frantic chaos. He had arrested five perps and had been shoving the most recent one in the back of a squad car before he heard gunshots and two familiar screams. What had felt like two seconds later, he found himself sliding over loose mulch behind the kids' slide to get to the source of the noise.

As soon as he got there, he was witness to some guy getting the jump on Nines and trying to pull him down and tie him up with chains. Where had he gotten chains from? Anderson had been rendered unconscious from what appeared to be a blow to the head, and he had a nasty gunshot wound in one of his shoulders. Connor had attempted to help Nines by leveling his weapon to nonlethally incapacitate the guy, but before he could, a woman had made her presence known. Gavin hadn't even noticed her, hadn't even seen where she had come from, but when he did catch the flash of her movement, it was too late. Before he could stop her or even before he could have cried out a warning to Connor, the loud _crack_ of her gun firing pierced the cold night air.

A piercing shot right through the side of Connor's head.

The spray of blue shouldn't have been that prominent against the dark mulch, shouldn't have been that visible.

But it had been.

The rest kind of blurred after that in Gavin's mind, but he did remember that Nines had let out the most ungodly sound—maybe Gavin had as well—before biting off the dude's finger and flipping him over a bench. He remembered the woman screaming, vaguely recalled cuffing her and shoving her in the back of Tina's squad car, and had some foggy recollection of driving to the hospital both to get himself treated—okay, Nines had forced him to get treated, whatever—and to see what was gonna happen with Anderson and Connor.

Anderson—_Hank_—had been fine. Had woken up a few hours after being admitted. Bitched from the moment his eyes had opened, but he was fine. Nothing critical was hit and no concussion, but he had to keep his arm in a sling for a while and was going to be put on desk duty for two weeks. The desk duty was going to kill him more than the injury, but to be fair, Gavin could relate. Hank was going to be fine.

Connor on the other hand…

From what the doctors—technicians, whatever—had told them, the bullet had entered the front of his temple and exited just above his ear. Thankfully, it hadn't destroyed the entire section of his head and processor, so there was a good chance he would pull through. Probably, hopefully. "One and a haf centimeters of his processor on the right side of his cranial shell—his skull," the technician had explained, "was shattered by the bullet, so we're repairing that now. Another five degrees inward and it would have forced a permanent shutdown, killing him." There had been a bunch of other techno-jargon that had confused Gavin to no end, but from what he could glean, Connor wouldn't become a permanent brain-dead toaster.

Or at least, that's what everyone was hoping.

Hank hadn't called them with an update and neither had the hospital, so they were still in the dark for now.

Fuck.

_You would have though that ten months after the revolution, people would quit being so hateful._ Pessimism ran rampant in his head, _What am I thinking? Humans are bigoted, violent assholes who ruin everything. Fuck, women, people of color, and queer people are still get shitted on and it's 2039. How the fucking hell would androids get it an easier after only ten months?_ (1)

"He's gonna be okay," he said. He winced because it sounded pathetic even to his ears.

"You do not know that," Nines frowned, his pacing picking up speed. He was going to wear a hole in his floor at this rate.

Gavin stood up, one hand curling around his ribs and the other setting down the beer on the coffee table next to Nines's neglected mug of thirium, and stepped towards him. His partner didn't acknowledge him, dead set on keeping himself moving. Now, Gavin knew he himself was an asshole and he was pretty terrible at comforting people, but even he realized how fucked up tonight had been. How it was eating at the usually calm android with a ravenous sort of hunger. He reached out to put a hand on the other's shoulder. "Nines, c'mon man, you gotta calm down."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"'_Calm down?'_" Nines whirled around to snarl at Gavin, teeth bared and eyes wide. His arms were thrown down on either side and the shadow arms scraped down the walls as they paralleled the action—they were going to have to repaint the after that. Two plates were drug off the counter and a framed poster was swiped off the wall. "Connor could be gone forever, and you want me to _calm down_?! He could be dead!" This was the first time since the park that his partner had spoken something louder than a whisper, but it wasn't pretty. There was a deep intonation that wasn't human, but wasn't android either, Otherworldly more like. That, coupled with the crackly static that overlaid his shout, produced an ugly, jarring voice.

Gavin's chest ached, and it wasn't his ribs.

Even though Nines yelling at him would hike up his own temper, he couldn't be mad at him. Not now. Not when Gavin's done the same with his own nasty temper and nastier insults.

"…I cannot imagine him gone, I'm sorry. I can't…I won't. I can't lose him." Oh shit, contractions were _not_ a good sign.

The beast-like clawed shadows peeled themselves from the wall to slowly encircle Nines as he tried to comfort himself. Underneath his shadows, his own arms were wrapped around himself, and to Gavin, it was like he was trying to hold himself together. Trying to keep himself from crumbling apart. Deviancy, from what the human could understand, was not an easy thing.

"Oh, fuck, Nines…" Before his toxic machismo (that he was trying to work on, but hey, it was still there) could scream at him that he shouldn't be touchy-feely, he reached out to gently grab Nines by his elbow. It was a mark of how distraught he was that he didn't predict—preconstruct?—Gavin pulling him close to him. His LED was a violent whirling mess of blazing scarlet, shining painfully bright in Gavin's eyes as Nines's head dropped to the shorter man's shoulder. Only his dark, wavy hair and that beacon of an LED were visible; his face was hidden.

Nines didn't cry, but the almost-barely-there shivering was disconcerting.

_Hank's fine, a little banged up but fine. Even though those technicians were sounding pretty hopeful…If Connor doesn't make it_… Gavin maneuvered them to take a seat on the couch, the one arm grasping at Nines's elbow moving to drape across his shivering shoulders. It wasn't quite a hug, but it seemed to be working for Nines.

Gavin didn't say anything as he waited for Nines to collect himself. To be honest, he didn't think he'd even be sure _what_ to say if he did have to open his mouth. Words weren't his thing, not like Nines or Connor, but even his hind lizard brain could understand that Nines needed him right now. He even held in his jolt of surprise when the next thing happened: a foreign touch to his hand made him look down only to see a slender, quivering shadow arm—one much skinnier and more delicate looking than before—nudge his fingers. Had never been touched by the shadows before, so he was surprised to feel that it wasn't cold like he had expected. It was almost warm, just shy of being a human temperature. He kept quiet as he watched the arm slowly coil up his own like a snaking ribbon, coming to a stop just before his elbow. The little hand at the end of the shadow gripped at the fabric of his longsleeve, and its clutch was so tight that it shook.

Gavin drew Nines closer to him, arm holding him just a little tighter.

After an unknown amount of time, all the tension and fight that had been in Nines seemed to disappear, leaving him—no matter how much he fought it—wilting against the couch cushions and Gavin. The human wished he had some kind of monitor, because he was pretty sure that his android partner's stress levels had been peaking pretty high and all over the place tonight. The memory of that self-destructing android, with its—_his_—stress levels resting in the high nineties, popped into his mind. His brain did the awful job of placing Nines in that room instead of Ortiz's android, and it felt all sorts of wrong.

"If you mention this to anyone…" And of course, his brain couldn't help but attempt to make the situation normal again. Some semblance of order.

The small laugh that Nines let out against his shoulder was hoarse and had a staticky overlay to it, but it sounded much more like himself than earlier. "I will not let your reputation as the deplorable hard-ass of the team become tarnished."

Gavin snorted, still with his arm around Nines and Nines's shadow coiled around his arm. It should have been weird to hold his partner for this long, but he obligated to make an exception this once. He didn't…hate it, per se, but this was something incredibly new, fragile. "And I'll make sure no one knows our resident bad ass has a softer side to him." _I won't tell anyone you almost fell apart._

"I _suppose_ that agreement is acceptable."

"Just drink you blue blood, already, smartass."

They sat pressed against one another on the couch for a while longer, eventually making room for Count Chocula and Captain Fluff who had returned from their hiding spots. Nines finally began to sip on his thirium, no doubt needing it after all the shit that went down tonight, and Gavin taking up his now flat beer. They decided on a show that they could zone out to, _How It's Made_ season 76, and not stress them out. Gavin knew that Nines particularly enjoyed learning about the processes of creations. Even though he could easily look then up in his head, it was 'pleasing to experience and learn about it the way humans did' was what the android said. Looking at the other's face, the slight uptick to the corner of his mouth and scant widening of his eyes, Gavin could tell this episode about stuffed animals was one his partner was getting pretty into.

With the cats curled around them, _How It's Made_ playing in front of them, and each other by their sides, Gavin was pretty sure that neither he nor Nines wanted to move.

But, damn, when they got that call from the hospital, they sure did hightail it the hell out of there. One wide-eyed look was exchanged, and they moved so fast that they had barely remembered to shut the door behind them so that cats wouldn't get out.

* * *

"Connor," they watched as Nines ran, yes ran, into the room and gathered the leaner android to hug to his chest, "Eights, I am so relieved that you are alright." The breathless quality of his voice pulled something uncomfortable in Gavin's chest. It was as if all the stress of the night combined with the relief of seeing the tinman puppy had stolen the energy from the military-grade RK.

After tapping Nines on the arm repeatedly to get him to let go—could androids be smothered to death by hugs?—Connor gave a grateful smile. "I apologize for scaring all of you, it was not my intention. Thank you for—"

"—But if you ever make me worry like that again, I am going to shoot you myself. Do not tempt me to fall into my original programming."

One murder 'droid, one injured puppy bot, one busted up old man, and one exhausted detective who wanted to cuddle up with his cats and go the fuck to sleep.

God, Gavin wasn't paid enough for this shit, but he was glad everyone was okay.

* * *

The next day, when Nines and Connor were grabbing thirium from the breakroom, Gavin and Hank watched them from their desks.

"He's like a monster dog, I swear to God. Ready to vacuum up snacks when he's peckish, and ready to devour a person when he's mad. The fuck?"

"Connor's worse. Have you seen those shadows of his? He's like an emotional octopus with extra eyes."

* * *

Published: 4/28/19

(1) Gavin may be (less of) an asshole, but he's an asshole with priorities. He's been working on his hatred and racism over androids since canon, but even before, he drank his Respect Women Juice, ate those People of Color Deserve Respect Cookies, and sipped on that Queer Rights Tea.

A/N: OOF! What a chapter, huh! I just finished my spring semester, so I was very excited to work on this and get this chapter published today! I did have to rewrite a few different parts because I didn't Nines and Gavin's friendship to appear too rushed. Additionally, I also am leaving the bigger developments between Nines and Connor to future fics in this series so that I can focus on them _specifically_.

A/N 2: **popcornpowergoddes**s made me a wonderful fanart of Nines and Connor! Because FF is dumb and doesn't allow for linking stuff, just go on their tumblr (popcornpowergoddess) and look up the #_otherworldly au_ tag. It's so adorable and it made me scream of happiness when I saw it! :D

A/N 3: Thank you to **queen-of-hell666** who left a review for the last chapter!


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